


Bed Rest

by Ladderofyears



Series: Healer Draco [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, recovery sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry's been hurt during one of his raids, so his Healer (and Husband) has put him on bedrest for a few days.





	Bed Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PollyWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyWeasley/gifts).



> Another one for you, PollyWeasley, because you know how much I love you.

I stroked my hand slowly over the bandage that still covered the left side of Harry’s chest. 

I knew how much it must still hurt by the way his muscles twitched underneath my fingertips, by the way his breath hitched quietly in his throat. My husband’s body is a map of scars, each a tribute to his stubborn Gryffindor bone-headedness. 

Harry’s completely unable to stop himself rushing into the fray; taking hexes like other men take insults, pathologically unable to wait for the other Aurors who might offer him at least some protection. 

Just two days ago, Harry was slashed with some sort of modified _Difindo_ , spliced with some sort of curse that made it slow to heal. I’d used _Reparifors_ which seemed to stop the worst of the bleeding, but the wound was stubborn, unwieldy. Blood-Replenishing Potion was necessary, and even I, with all my years of Healing felt my heart start to beat faster with the nearness of the cut to his heart. 

That's the thing. Harry doesn’t understand how much he _shines_ ; how tall and broad he is in those red, formal robes. It makes him a target for every criminal able to hex and curse, and everyday I force myself not to ask him to stay. To belong to me instead of the rest of the world. 

None of my usual potions managed to heal Harry as quickly as he’d like. 

I know my husband. He won’t rest until the criminal- some utter cretin who was selling illegal, potentially fatal potion ingredients- is locked away in a cell in Azkaban, and there’s nothing he’d like better than to be out hunting him. 

But not today. 

Today is the rare day that Harry is all mine. My one, my only, condition when Harry took the Head Auror position was that nobody but I would care for him. I’ve seen him bully healers before, dismissing their warnings in order to sign himself out of St. Mungos far before he was ready, just so he could get back out into the field. 

Today I’ve put him on bed rest, and forced him into a private room. I won’t have those vultures from the Prophet taking pictures and writing scurrilous lies about us; they’ve sneaked into the hospital before. Our privacy is sacrosanct. 

Private rooms, however, have additional benefits. 

I’ve cast a _Colloportus_ spell on the door, and charmed it invisible. I’m currently making sure Harry knows precisely how valuable his anatomy is to me, by giving him a very thorough examination. My hands are roaming all over his chest, ghosting all over the scars and his taut, broad muscles. 

Even after all these years, the sight of him is breath-taking. Though I know I have to be gentle, I’m pressing my lips to his, loving the warm musky taste of his lips next to mine. For such a strong, powerful man Harry’s lips are as soft as satin, and I'm suddenly powerless with want, my secret fright of the previous days making the experience even more urgent. 

“I need you, Harry...” I whisper into Harry’s skin. “Need you inside me”. 

He knows I’m serious as well; knows how urgently I need it. 

I need to feel him filling me, need to feel the burn and stretch as he pushes into me, the sweat and heft of his body proving to me once again that he’s alive and that he’s mine. My redemption, my beloved, and at my darkest point, my reason for living. 

It grows in me like Fiendyre, every time Harry’s injured, this desire for the connection that only sex can give. Even if its momentary, we become one person, his attention entirely focussed on me. I only wish it could be like that always. 

I know exactly how to make Harry feel good; the strokes, kisses and touches that make him moan. I how to distract him from the pain I that know he’s feeling, and from the growing hardness rolling against my hips, I know my efforts are succeeding. 

I strip off my clothes and move Harry onto his right-hand side, sliding my body so that my back is tight against his chest. My husband is far too injured, really, to doing this, and were he any other patient, Harry would feel the sharp end of my tongue for being so reckless. I mutter a self lubing spell, and slowly, so slowly grind myself onto his beautifully large cock. 

All the tensions and agonies of the last few days rush though our bodies, and we’re both coming within minutes, our bodies release telling a story that our mouths have feared to tell. We lay there, afterwards, Harry and I, the only sound the joint beating of our hearts. 

And I know that he’s everything to me, this man beside me, the kindest, most pure love of my life. I gave up my name and my fortune to be with him and I’d do it again in an instant. 

This waiting though; this _existence_ where everyday I’m waiting, each and every passing second for that one curse that sticks, or that single hex that meets it mark? Merlin, I’m not sure how long I can live like this. 

Tomorrow, perhaps, might be the day I ask him to stay beside me. To belong to me instead of the rest of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, have a lovely day xxx


End file.
